Tip of the Tongue
by Ageless Shadow
Summary: A collection of scenes from stories that are just "on the tip of my tongue" but can't figure out how to write.  Great description, right? xD
1. Chapter 1

**Well, this is just a little collection of either cliffies or bunnies, whatever you want to call them. I think they're more like cliffies, though, even though they are _kinda _short. A few of them will eventually be continued, _maybe_. Just as soon as my form of writers block finally decides to vacate. **

**And, I know some people wanted me to continue Oblivion, so I'm trying to work on that too. It's very tough to get out of that, "When it's done, it's done," attitude. ^^' Anyways, enjoy! :)**

**P.S., really sorry about the crumby titles!  
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**1. Depression  
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Snowflakes fell like white teardrops from the forlorn sky, dismal and cold. New York City's now dim lights mingled with the snow crystals, making them glow and giving a slight, almost nonexistent, glimmer of hope to the man who sat dejected on the very edge of his balcony.

The snow covered his clothes, melting and refreezing in most places, and his teeth chattered. With morbid fascination, he watched his breath change into an icy fog before his vacant eyes.

Dangling his feet over the stone railing, he gazed down at the snow that formed a white blanket over the ground below him. Nothing was visible except the large expanse of an ivory sea, with very few cars, and even they melted in with the snow.

He knew that he should be inside, and that he should be sitting on the sofa of his apartment, drinking nice, hot, Italian roast coffee. If Peter saw him outside like this, he would probably yell at him and threaten to throw him back in prison.

_Peter._

Peter was probably still mad at him for causing this whole mess, anyway. First Kate, now Mozzie...Everything was his fault. If he hadn't gone looking for Kate, if he had just told everyone that he _didn't_ have the music box, she wouldn't have been killed. He should have been on the plane with her, that way Mozzie would never have been shot. Anyway he looked at it, the problems all started with his own actions, his own, stupid, brash actions.

_Peter will probably send me back to prison_, Neal thought, a joyless laugh escaping from his lips. _I wouldn't blame him._

He closed his eyes, thinking back to Kate's death. His body shook even more as he remembered the explosion, the loud, blinding explosion that sent his world crashing down into devastation. Then he remembered Mozzie, who was lying in a hospital bed dying because of him. If he hadn't been so intent on revenge...Now a new scene flashed through his mind: Peter, yelling at him through prison bars, with no sympathy, compassion, or forgiveness in his eyes, as though he didn't even care.

A single tear slid down his cheek, freezing quickly, and he opened his eyes, staring back at the snow-covered ground.

_If I died, it wouldn't matter_, he thought. _I could just...gently slide off the edge and be buried in the snow. No one would notice me missing, no one would care..._

A tremor shook his body, and he could feel his consciousness fading.

_I am nothing,_ he thought as he closed his eyes. Just as he drifted into unconsciousness, he could feel his body begin to slip off the balcony...

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This one is something that _may_ be continued in the near future. But I'm not really good with that emotional stuff, so it might be a while.

Anyways, please read and review!

Rachel


	2. Chapter 2

**2. Conclusions**

"Peter, I know that he's the leader," Neal protested. "All we have to do—"

"No, Neal. It's too dangerous without backup." Peter opened the drawer of his desk and slid the file in. Neal opened his mouth to add something, but the agent stopped him. "And you won't get any backup because our division doesn't handle these types of cases—unless, of course, you can prove he's the guy?"

Neal smiled. "Oh, I can prove that he's the guy!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Can you do it legally?"

"No," the ex-con said, shaking his head.

"Then the answer is still no!"

Neal's blue eyes flashed a feeling of hurt, but his infamous puppy eyes quickly replaced it. That was _not_ going to work this time. "Peter—"

"No."

Neal closed his eyes and nodded, and Peter knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Neal," he said, his voice softening, "I know what this case means to you. This girl—Madison—she's out to _kill_ Cipriani. The only thing relating him to the mob is what she's told us, and _none_ of it checks out!"

"But there's still a chance!" Neal said, his eyes snapping open. "If we can get him in, we can confirm her story!"

"Neal, what did she tell you?"

"Cipriani was the man who killed her husband. All she wants is to put him to justice," he said. Whispering, he added, "I know exactly how she feels."

Peter clasped both hands together and sighed. "Neal, she's never even _had _a husband!"

Neal's eyes widened.

"She's been playing you, Neal."

His eyes were clouded with deep thought for so long, Peter thought he was reliving Kate's death. The explosion was unexpected, it had caught both of them by surprise, but as soon as Neal screamed in anguish and started to run towards the inferno, the agent had found himself instinctively trying to comfort him and keep him away from the plane. He would never forget the expression on his partner's face, the way his face contorted in such pain and agony he could hardly stand to watch him desperately call for Kate to come back to him.

However, she didn't, and she never would.

Peter reached over to put a hand on Neal's shoulder when the man suddenly jerked his head towards him.

"Whether she lied or not, Cipriani _is_ the ring leader," he said, determination in his eyes. "Even if he isn't, there's a good chance that he knows something. I say we should find out." He flashed one of his signature smiles, and Peter almost agreed with him.

Almost.

"No, it's still too dangerous," he said. "I can't let you risk it. If he is the ringleader, he is in possession of weapons far deadlier than ours. For God's sake, Neal, he deals weapons to rival the U.S. Army!"

"Peter—"

"No, Neal. Go home."

Neal rolled his eyes. "What, now you're benching me?"

"As of now; yes, I am. No _go!_"

The only way to describe Neal's expression was pissed. Like a stubborn child who had gotten himself grounded, he opened the clear glass door and briskly left the FBI building with Peter watching him from the door of his office.

The minute Caffrey entered the elevator, his partner felt a sudden sense of dread. He slowly sat back into his chair and leaned back, lost in thought. Almost mindlessly, he opened the drawer and reached for the file Neal had given him.

According to the file, Cipriani was an Infantry officer before he deserted, taking with him many of the prototype weapons. Once back in the states, he began replicating them and selling them to the highest bidder. He had to admit, the information Caffrey had managed to ascertain was quite extensive. Nowhere near as extensive as the file Peter had made on Neal, of course, but very impressive.

He looked at the lists of possible aliases and crimes and became more and more convinced that the ex-con was correct in assuming that Ian Cipriani was, in fact, involved in the illegal arms trade.

The more he believed Neal, the more intense his feeling of anxiety. He began thinking of what would happen if—no, Neal definitely wouldn't listen to him. The felon was all hero. No matter what his reasons, he always did what he thought was right. If he hadn't been the one to arrest the con man or even assigned to his case, he would have thought Caffrey was a decorated agent.

Different scenes flashed through his mind: happy ones, where Neal took precautions and managed to catch the man in action _without_ cutting his anklet; and the morbid fantasies of Neal telling every word of their conversation to Madison, trying to help her, and his crimson blood staining the ground.

The moment he thought about blood, he sprang from his chair, grabbed his jacket and left the white-collar floor without a word. The moment he got into his Taurus, his cell phone vibrated. Ignoring it, he started his engine and pulled out into the street.

He cursed when he saw the traffic in front of him. The line seemed to be a never-ending river of cars, its movement almost nonexistent.

Looking for the traffic light to see what the holdup was, he cursed even more: the light was green. He slammed his hand down on the car horn, and a few brave drivers followed his example.

"Damn it, get a move on!" he yelled, though it was to no one in particular.

Finally, noticed the cars start to move. The minute he saw an open parking space, he pulled over, muttering, "Pft, fast my ass. I could _walk_ faster than that!"

Peter swung open the door and, once he was out, slammed it shut again. Then he winced and looked apologetically at his car before running down the sidewalk.

He was only one block away from June's mansion when his cell rang again. He stopped and checked the caller ID: it was Diana.

He flicked it open and said, "Yeah."

"_Caffrey's cut his anklet_."

Peter froze. It was no surprise that Neal would cut his anklet, but so soon? Neal definitely didn't go willingly...did he? He slammed the phone shut and sprinted the rest of the block.

Finally, he reached the gate of June's house: it was unlocked. Urgently, he flung the gate open and dashed inside and up the stairs.

He banged on Neal's door, breathing heavily as he called out, "Neal? Neal, open up!"

He could hear the incessant beeping of the anklet, wincing at the high-pitched wail it let out. He tried the knob, and it, too, was unlocked. He burst through the door and looked around the room.

No Neal Caffrey.

His eyes rested on something that lay on the floor directly in front of him. It was Neal's traffic anklet, and it was covered in blood.\

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Well, this isn't my best idea. It seems a little rushed, to me. The end is all...BWA! But, of course, everyone says, "Oh, it's perfectly fine, dear!" -_- Yeah, tell that to the part after, "Now _go_."

Anyway, please read and review this cliffhanger!

^^ Rachel


	3. Chapter 3

**It took me this long to realize: I didn't put a disclaimer! Well, if I did, I have amnesia...Anyways, I own NOTHING of White Collar, though it would be friggin' awesome if I did! =D**

**I think I'm giving up on individual titles already...(FAIL)  
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**3**

The world swam around him as he slowly regained consciousness. He let out a groan as he became more aware of his surroundings. The room he was in seemed to glow a bright gray and then fade to black every few seconds. Occasionally, when the room was gray, he would try to stand, only to find that he was restrained to the chair he was sitting in.

Now the room was black, and he could hear voices, distant and distorted. It sounded like men talking, but their voices swam together so that it was difficult to distinguish individual sentences.

"_We're...he'll...why...only Neal Caffrey can...found...little...Agent Burke..." _

_Neal Caffrey?_ he asked himself._ Agent Burke? Those names sound familiar, but..._

When everything was back to gray, he could see the two men. Their figures were outlined in a white aura, and they seemed to be looking in his direction. From what he could tell, they were talking to him.

"_I...awake...did...well?"_

Whatever they said, he responded with a small moan. Though it was only a moan and his voice sounded far off, as though it were at the end of a tunnel, he was surprised at how weak it was. The men started talking amongst themselves again. Their voices only became slightly clearer.

"_You idiot! You gave him too much...How is he...no way he...boss..."_

Whom were they talking about? From the sound of it, they must have done something wrong.

Suddenly a sharp, stinging pain soared through him. He let out a loud, "Agh!" That gained little attention from the two men. They only looked at him for a split second before arguing again.

He rolled his head to look for the source of the pain, barely distinguishing the large bloodstain on his leg. He stared at it in aberrant fascination as the color became richer and more crimson in front of him. The pain radiated from a spot right in the center of the blood, but the color mesmerized him. He didn't notice one of the men grabbing his arm, and he didn't notice the prickling sensation as a needle punctured his skin.

His eyes widened and his vision sharpened for a few seconds as every vein in his body felt as though they were set ablaze. He clenched his fists weakly before he drifted into unconsciousness.

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If anyone didn't really understand the gray-to-black deal at the beginning, that was my _really_ bad interpretation of fading in an out of consciousness, so if I need to change that description...please, _please_ let me know!

Besides that, please read and review!

Rachel


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